


Cracked and Mended

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Claiming, Devotion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She wakes with blood under her nails.</i> The curious power in reconstruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracked and Mended

She wakes with blood under her nails.

Silently, she washes them in her basin, noting that it takes almost no effort for her to do away with this evidence. Not so elsewhere. There are slight bruises on her hips, teeth marks just above her breast, but none of that is visible. He made sure of it. 

Sansa lingers over them as well, pressing her otherwise unmarred skin slightly, savoring the slight sting. She knows she shouldn’t take pleasure in this pain, and she really doesn’t—it’s merely the memory, the knowledge of what this represents that does it.

She takes more pleasure in the evidence under her nails. She knows where that comes from, knows that Petyr is waking up to scratched and marked shoulders, her own signs of control. It’s almost a pity that she must get rid of this evidence, but of course she must. It simply wouldn’t do to raise questions, not when she doesn’t know the answers herself. 

For Sansa knows this is wrong, for her to welcome him into her bed. She’s known it was wrong since the first time it happened, when she was not a maid but far from experienced. He had taken a firm hand with her, though he was clearly more than a little in awe. Laid out in her bed, tangled in sheets that somehow seemed too soft for a moment such as this, he had kissed his way down her body, stopping at the juncture between her legs. She had run her hands though his hair, which she had feared at the time was a lapse of control—though it course it was the opposite, but that fact did not dawn on her at the time. 

It had been a strange sensation, his tongue at her entrance sending shivers up and down her body that she still remembers to this day, even after repeated experiences. Harry had never done such a thing to her, though of course he must have with the baser girls whose beds he frequented all too often in their short marriage. It was a dirty, base thing, a thing that’s only down with common women. She had wondered why highborn ladies scorned this, as the shocks of pleasure radiated through her, and had realized with a clear certainty that it was because she was looking down on him, placing herself in a position that few women fell into naturally. 

He had kissed her, sucked her, and constantly claimed possession, whispers of “You’re mine” vibrating against her skin. But the tone was not one of control, but of devotion; she wondered in that moment what he wouldn’t do for her. When she had come with arched back and moved to straddle his hips he did not protest. He had looked at her with eyes glazed by lust—a look that she had seen nearly every night since—and she has reveled in this power.

Hands clean, she takes a moment to examine her nails. One would think that that rush of power would have disappeared with the blood, but as with so many other things in her life it was just the opposite. She’ll see him again when they break their fast, a perfectly reconstructed woman, and she knows that she’ll again see awe in his eyes.


End file.
